


Henceforth, Be King

by Iambic



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: Future Fic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 19:21:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iambic/pseuds/Iambic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Camelot doesn't need a dragon anymore. Camelot needs a king.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Henceforth, Be King

"You freed the dragon."

Uther's voice rumbles with rage, but he does not shout. He fumes instead, glowers to meet Merlin's rebellious glare. For a moment Merlin smiles, turning the corners of his mouth in as Nimueh once did. Issuing a challenge. _Let me go, fight me fair. Then we'll see._ But Uther only stalks up to the halfway mark of the room, the place Merlin cannot reach.

"I freed the dragon," Merlin says, and the challenge lines his tone as well.

"I could have you killed for this," Uther spits. "I should have killed you before. Sorcerer. Traitor."

But Merlin can call this bluff. He doesn't bother to hide his disdain, rolling his eyes and leaning back against the cold stone of the tower prison. "You should have killed me when you drove your son away," he says. And that stings, a little; Arthur's exile hurts, has hurt. But he understands the reason of a mad king, saving his son from danger in the only way he can. Distance softens blows.

Merlin expected death, then. He doesn't expect it any longer, but that isn't why he freed the dragon.

Uther levels a last glare at him, spins on his heel, and stalks back down the stairs to his proper dominion.

\--

Gwen arrives, later, with a tray. "I think he expects you to provide your own food," she says, with a forced laugh.

"It's like he thinks I'm some kind of great sorcerer." Merlin fiddles with the chain on his wrist, with a forced smile.

"We're really bad at this," says Gwen, dropping her pretense of cheer as she stands up. She blinks, twice, and backs up a few steps. "Are you – are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Merlin says.

\--

Camelot is a kingdom at peace. No other king dare approach her.

In his tower, Merlin sets off fireworks and small storms because he has nothing else to do, and he grows a long grey beard and makes it into a kite and flies it on the next gust of wind. He pulls doves from Gwen's sleeves, when she visits, and spits harmless insults at Uther. The aging king no longer comes simply to visit.

But he comes to watch, sometimes. Like he's looking for something. Like he's waiting for Merlin to show him something – something he's lost. Or something he never had at all.

\--

"You freed the dragon," Gwen says.

"Months ago," Merlin replies. It's been over a year, actually.

"No one ever said."

"No one ever knew."

Merlin took care to that. Few people actually knew of the dragon in the first place – it was always a rumour, never a fact. No one saw it chained underneath the castle. No one saw it unchained, flying due west through cloud cover. No one except Uther – and possibly Arthur. But Arthur doesn't count, because if a dragon flies through a forest, and the only person to see isn't supposed to be alive anymore, it doesn't make any noise at all.

\--

Merlin doesn't kill Uther, but Uther dies anyway. Old age, the people say. Illness. Grief.

Guilt, Merlin suspects. Guilt, helped along by the slow creeping poison of envy, and someone else's resentment.

Gwen doesn't come to see him anymore.

\--

The chains fall free. He probably could have done this before – but where could he have gone? Gaius died not long before Arthur left. Arthur left when things got bad. No one in Camelot would house a sorcerer, and Merlin made a promise, after all.

_"Protect the king. Protect the line of Camelot."_

Camelot doesn't need a dragon. She had one, and then she had another, and now she has none. What Camelot needs is a king.

The day after Uther's funeral, Merlin leaves with the light, due west. Behind him, to tell of his passage, remains only old Tom's anvil, his last perfect sword driven through the middle. Let the people of Camelot make of it what they will. Their king, when he returns, will know its meaning.


End file.
